I shared some time with "V" earlier this month that was both insightful and inspiring, yet also a bit melancholy, as it opened my eyes in two significant ways. Through this amazingly astute and incredibly sensitive woman, I think I finally learned what it means to be a true friend, along with how it feels to be completely alone.
It's an invaluable lesson that everyone, regardless of their age or life circumstance, should be taught.
It's an invaluable lesson that everyone, regardless of their age or life circumstance, should be taught.
Let me start by stating one very clear fact. "V" continues to be awesome in every possible way! And I am extremely grateful to be able to provide care for her. Not only is she in excellent shape mentally and physically for her age (I still can't believe that she is really five years shy of a century!), making her a clever conversationalist and delightful companion, but she is equally compassionate and perceptive. I suppose that comes with the territory... if one is lucky enough to reach her stage in life and still maintain a relatively decent degree of overall health, dignity and independence.
"V" is one of those "lucky" ones, largely, I believe, because she is still able to live in her own home, full of long-time memories created over the span of seven decades. This arrangement is made possible, in part, thanks to a loving family, who have chosen to provide "V" with a twenty-four hour caregiving team, of which I am the newest, and extremely grateful, member. It is also maintained by "V"s very strong will and deep determination to remain as self-sufficient as possible.
Please don't get me wrong. I have seen some wonderful caregiving facilities like the one described in a recent blog entry, where "M"s sister thrived for a number of years before her recent passing. It was distinguished by dedicated staff members who provided fun-filled festivities for the residents (and not only on holidays), while at the same time giving genuine care to each and every individual living there. (Or so it appeared during my visits.)
Sadly, I have also seen the opposite scenario. Assisted Living Facilities that boast about their innovative, "person-centered" approach to elderly care when the reality is that many of the residents, most commonly the ones who cannot advocate on their own behalf and have no family or friends who are willing to do so, are often left alone and isolated from their "community" of seniors.
Please don't get me wrong. I have seen some wonderful caregiving facilities like the one described in a recent blog entry, where "M"s sister thrived for a number of years before her recent passing. It was distinguished by dedicated staff members who provided fun-filled festivities for the residents (and not only on holidays), while at the same time giving genuine care to each and every individual living there. (Or so it appeared during my visits.)
Sadly, I have also seen the opposite scenario. Assisted Living Facilities that boast about their innovative, "person-centered" approach to elderly care when the reality is that many of the residents, most commonly the ones who cannot advocate on their own behalf and have no family or friends who are willing to do so, are often left alone and isolated from their "community" of seniors.
Gladly, this is not the case with "V". She is comfortable and content in familiar surroundings, enjoying a very high quality of life that would probably not be possible for her in an Assisted Living Facility. Granted, "V" has lost some confidence in her mobility as the result of two serious falls, but she nevertheless is able to ambulate quite well around the first floor of her long-time home with the assistance of a walker. At times, "V" expresses regret that she is no longer capable of climbing the stairs up to her attic or down the rather treacherous steps to her basement (which, I can tell you from personal experience is not an easy feat, even for someone whose feet are forty-five years her junior!). But most of the time, "V" remains keenly aware and immensely appreciative of the fact that she is still able to live in her own home. The home where she raised her children. The home where she happily baby-sat for her children's children, (and happily watched as they took them to their own homes afterwards!). The home where she can happily relax in her cozy living room chair and "Face-Chat" on her I-Pad with her grandchildren's children!!!
And the home where she enjoyed a hard-earned and fulfilling retirement with her husband, along with an extremely close-knit group of friends from her local community.
And the home where she enjoyed a hard-earned and fulfilling retirement with her husband, along with an extremely close-knit group of friends from her local community.
"V" absolutely beams when she talks about this group of friends. Women, all of whom have lost their husbands, that she met in her small community's social club. Her eyes light up as she describes tales of their travels together, sometimes on scenic Senior bus trips to nearby attractions, and other times, flights to popular vacation destinations much further away. Like Las Vegas. And yes. What happens in Vegas really does stay in Vegas, even among retirees! While "V" is more than willing to talk about the excursions she shared with her group of peers, I can't help but wonder if she is holding back a bit when discussing their adventures in "Sin City." (How I would love to have been a fly on the wall during some of those escapades!)
To me, close-knit is a concept that conjures up many images, including warmth, familiarity and acceptance, and it is clearly the best way to describe "V"s community of friends. When not traveling together, the ladies typically remained in regular contact with each other, either by telephone or in person, rotating whose home they would gather at for coffee, cake and conversation. No Twittering. No texting. Just face-to-face interaction characterized by chatting with each other in the same room! Get-togethers full of love and laughter, catching-up on the latest community news (and sometimes gossip), the kind of closeness that comes from truly knowing your friends inside and out... the kind of closeness that seems rather evasive among today's technologically dependent generation. No Facebook friending among this group!
It sounds idyllic to me! The kind of retirement I can only hope to enjoy, if ever I can afford to do so in today's depressing economy!
There is, sadly, another side to this story. A darker picture painted with many strokes of sorrow and deep-rooted loneliness. And if you've been following my blog entries so far, you already know that a grass-is-not-always-greener scenario is just around the corner...
While the years have passed for "V", who is comfortably able to live in her own home, many of her closest and dearest friends have moved on... in one form or another. Of course, this is not unusual during the course of one's lifetime. And although I'm only at the half century mark, I've nevertheless experienced this phenomenon one too many times myself, often with me being the one moving away, leaving behind a tearful trail of people who had grown to care about me, (and hopefully vice-versa).
To my credit (or in my defense, depending on how you look at it), I have managed to stay in touch with many of these friends as best I can. For many years, I had to rely primarily on primitive modes of communication, in particular, hand-written letters sent through the good ole U.S. Postal Service. And as the cost of mailing a letter continues to rise at an alarmingly disproportional rate, I still plow forward, especially during the holiday season, when some form of Internet exchange just doesn't seem personal enough.
During every weekend of my relationship with "V" thus far, I have watched with awe as she engages in the very same task of maintaining an on-going connection with her old friends, primarily relying on yet another antiquated form of communication - the dial-up telephone. It is truly an inspiring experience, and I am privileged week after week as I watch "V"s devoted, and sometimes painstaking, attempts to contact the people who mean so much to her.
To my credit (or in my defense, depending on how you look at it), I have managed to stay in touch with many of these friends as best I can. For many years, I had to rely primarily on primitive modes of communication, in particular, hand-written letters sent through the good ole U.S. Postal Service. And as the cost of mailing a letter continues to rise at an alarmingly disproportional rate, I still plow forward, especially during the holiday season, when some form of Internet exchange just doesn't seem personal enough.
During every weekend of my relationship with "V" thus far, I have watched with awe as she engages in the very same task of maintaining an on-going connection with her old friends, primarily relying on yet another antiquated form of communication - the dial-up telephone. It is truly an inspiring experience, and I am privileged week after week as I watch "V"s devoted, and sometimes painstaking, attempts to contact the people who mean so much to her.
On her dining room table, in the room that overlooks the increasingly gray field of beans, "V" keeps her address book. It is a good size binder, about half as big as a school notebook, decorated with an colorful and uplifting floral pattern. I recall my Grandmother having one. And I remember seeing one in "M"s home as well, although her Dementia, quite sadly, prevented her from using it in any meaningful way. Come to think of it, I used to have one, too, and not that long ago! I think it also had a colorful and uplifting floral pattern on it! I'm chagrined to confess, however, that these days, all of my "contacts" are "stored" in either my computer or my cell phone. I can't even recall my own sister's phone number without first looking it up on some electronic device!
Often, after we've shared an enjoyable meal at this table, "V" likes to reach out to some of her friends from the social club, friends whose addresses and phone numbers are kept safe and sound in her well-worn but still colorful binder. From our discussions, I've learned that there was a core group of four women, including "V", who were especially close and spent a great deal of time together. To hear "V" talk about their antics, it sounds as though she was the unspoken "leader" of the pack, often initiating their contacts and road trips.
But while "V" has continued to maintain a high quality of life in her long-time home, this group of women that she was so close with, beloved friends with whom she celebrated life's amazing joys, as well as mourned its inevitable sorrows, has not fared quite as well in terms of their overall health and level of independence. From what I can gather during "V"s regular phone conversations with the other three women, also amazingly still alive at a hearty age, this is largely due to the quality of their living situations.
This reality became piercingly clear to me during my time with "V" several weekends ago. While the hours spent in her company were as enjoyable and fulfilling as they always are, they were also distinguished by a profound, almost palpable pain. With a combined, yet somewhat confusing, sense of sadness and admiration, I watched with a heavy heart as "V" attempted to keep in touch with the three other women.
This reality became piercingly clear to me during my time with "V" several weekends ago. While the hours spent in her company were as enjoyable and fulfilling as they always are, they were also distinguished by a profound, almost palpable pain. With a combined, yet somewhat confusing, sense of sadness and admiration, I watched with a heavy heart as "V" attempted to keep in touch with the three other women.
The process, of course, was all completed by telephone, which of course could not be done without the aid of the colorful and uplifting floral-patterned notebook. And "V", always the loyal, devoted, unspoken "leader" of the group, was the initiator in the chain of contact.
"V" had somehow heard from another friend or family member that the youngest member of the social club, "J", had recently moved into a nursing home. According to "V", this friend had no family members other than two nieces who were no longer a consistent part of their Aunt "J"s life. "V" described to me with great sadness how her friend had lost everything by trusting someone who was entrusted to care for her, thus ending up in the nursing home.
The two other friends in the quartet, "M" and "L", had asked "V" if she would take on the task of contacting "J" to find out how she was doing, and "V", perhaps out of a sense of obligation, but also coupled with a sincere-sounding compassion for her friend, volunteered to telephone "J".
With a noticeable sigh, "V" opened her address book to look for the phone number of the nursing home "J" was reportedly in. Observing her body language from across the dining room table, I had the distinct feeling that "V" had, prior to this occasion, engaged in this activity far too frequently. I noticed that the colorful and uplifting floral notebook actually appeared quite tattered and a bit torn, as if it had been opened and closed quite frequently. Tucked in inside were tiny pieces of paper containing hand-scribbled addresses and phone numbers. I was amazed that "V" could even see the letters and numbers that looked like jibber-jabber from where I sat. Of course, she had her reading glasses on, but then again, so did I!
Slowly, patiently, and, I suspected, somewhat wearily, "V" looked through the pages until she found the phone number she was seeking.
"I think "J" is on the Red Unit," she told me as I watched her pick up the telephone.
Carefully dialing the numbers, "V" then waited quite a while only to have a recorded message answer her call. We all know the kind... Press 1 for *****, Press 2 for #####, Press 3 for ++++++, etc. Completely computerized, with only the slightest hint of a human voice. I could tell that "V" had been through this kind of routine before, as she seemed adept at following the prompts. I guess she would have to be to survive in today's world, as pretty much every imaginable public entity utilizes some form of computer generated voice messaging.
I watched and heard as "V" pressed the number for the Red Unit, only to have the call disconnected shortly afterwards. With another sigh, "V" began another attempt. This time, she got through to the Red Unit, but was immediately placed on hold by what sounded like a human being on the other end of the line. Silently, patiently, "V" sat waiting, only to have the call disconnected again.
"It's the weekend, and it's after dinner time," "V" justified. "It's probably a busy time for the staff."
"Wow!" I thought. That was incredibly understanding of her! I would have been mad as heck by this point in time, after being put on hold once, and two disconnections!
Unrelentingly, "V" tried dialing the number again. Same process. Same prompts. Better outcome, though. This time, "V" was able to talk with a live person.
"I'm trying to reach "J", a friend of mine who recently moved in," "V" explained to the woman on the other side of the telephone line.
Hurriedly cutting "V"s query off, the woman told "V" what room number her friend was in, and said she would transfer her to that extension.
Unfortunately, and as you undoubtedly may have expected, the call was again disconnected.
"V" let out another barely audible sigh, and without hesitation, dialed the number one more time. After getting through to the hurried staff member again, "V" clearly stated that she would like to be connected to the room that "J" was in.
Finally, I could hear a definite ringing sound as "V" held the phone up to her ear, speaker on because of her hearing impairment.
If confusion has a sound, then that is exactly what I heard on the other end of the line. An older woman's voice definitely had uttered the words, "Hello? Hello?", but then the noise of the phone dropping onto a hard surface, probably the floor, quickly followed. The voice returned, as though from a distance, and pleaded, "Hold on! Hold on! I'm not used to this damned phone!" There was an urgency in the woman's voice, and I got the impression that she did not receive many telephone calls and was desperate to receive this one.
"Is that you "J"?" "V" asked, loudly "It's me, "V"!" also loudly.
"Who?" The woman sounded disoriented and out of breath.
"V" explained again who she was. I thought I saw a hint of frustration in her eyes, but if there really was any there, "V" certainly masked it well by remaining cheerful in her tone.
"V"? Is that you?" the woman asked again, this time sounding more shocked than anything else.
"Yes. It's me!" "V" explained again. A big smile spread over her tired-looking countenance as she realized that "J" knew who she was.
Taking the name of the Lord in vain, "J" responded with sheer joy. It was a wonderful thing to hear, as she came to the realization that her dear friend was actually on the telephone with her.
"You are an Angel sent by God!" "J" declared to "V" with absolute sincerity in her voice. In a burst of energy, she went on to describe how she had ended up in the nursing home... how she had lost her own home, and how the woman she had trusted to care for her hadn't done so, and how her health has been deteriorating, and how she had no one to help her, and how terribly alone she felt... and on and on and on... The reality of "J"s situation, being basically abandoned in a nursing home with no friends or family around her to offer support, became painfully clear to me. Kind of like a brick hitting you in the side of the head.
In a calm, soothing tone, "V" continued to comfort her friend by saying, "I know. I know it's hard."
"J" continued to share her troubles with "V", who sat and listened patiently. Across the table, I tried to gauge her emotions by the expression on her face, but could not. Her face remained completely unchanged from the beginning of the conversation to the end. I got the feeling that "V" was fulfilling some kind of extremely difficult, yet essentially necessary, duty by hearing her dear old friend's woes. And all throughout, "V" continued her attempt to offer comfort to "J" with the same words, "I know it's hard."
"An Angel sent by God!" "J" exclaimed again, thanking "V" over and over for finding her at the nursing home. "I thought everyone had forgotten about me!"
"We haven't," "V" told her old friend kindly, and the words were both sincere and sad. I knew that "V" was speaking for her other two friends, "M" and "L", when she spoke in the plural. And I also knew that "V", even at the age of ninety-five, was still the strong, steadfast leader of this close-knit group of friends, a role that she took very seriously.
After hanging up, "V" told me in a resigned tone of voice that she would have to call "M" and "L" and let them know that she had spoken with "J."
"Not now, though," she added. "Later." It was clear that she needed some time to recover from the conversation, along with the extreme effort involved in getting through to "J" in the first place.
I looked at her in awe, and wondered how difficult it must be for her to be such a strong support for her younger friends.
"Was that conversation hard for you?" I asked, genuinely concerned about the impact it may have had upon her.
A final sigh. "Yes," she said simply. "But I'm the one who makes sure we all stay in touch."
There it was. "V" was acknowledging her own purpose, an extremely relevant meaning in her life. Her friends relied on her to find out information about their other friends, even if the news was sad. And "V" responsibly and consistently fulfilled this role, still the "leader of the pack."
Then "V said something that made me realize that although weary, and possibly very sad at the loss of the deep connection she once had with her close-knit group of friends, she was still full of spirit... and a taste for something sweet.
"Let's have one of those Little Debbie snacks," she suggested, and I more than willingly fulfilled her request.
"V" had somehow heard from another friend or family member that the youngest member of the social club, "J", had recently moved into a nursing home. According to "V", this friend had no family members other than two nieces who were no longer a consistent part of their Aunt "J"s life. "V" described to me with great sadness how her friend had lost everything by trusting someone who was entrusted to care for her, thus ending up in the nursing home.
The two other friends in the quartet, "M" and "L", had asked "V" if she would take on the task of contacting "J" to find out how she was doing, and "V", perhaps out of a sense of obligation, but also coupled with a sincere-sounding compassion for her friend, volunteered to telephone "J".
With a noticeable sigh, "V" opened her address book to look for the phone number of the nursing home "J" was reportedly in. Observing her body language from across the dining room table, I had the distinct feeling that "V" had, prior to this occasion, engaged in this activity far too frequently. I noticed that the colorful and uplifting floral notebook actually appeared quite tattered and a bit torn, as if it had been opened and closed quite frequently. Tucked in inside were tiny pieces of paper containing hand-scribbled addresses and phone numbers. I was amazed that "V" could even see the letters and numbers that looked like jibber-jabber from where I sat. Of course, she had her reading glasses on, but then again, so did I!
Slowly, patiently, and, I suspected, somewhat wearily, "V" looked through the pages until she found the phone number she was seeking.
"I think "J" is on the Red Unit," she told me as I watched her pick up the telephone.
Carefully dialing the numbers, "V" then waited quite a while only to have a recorded message answer her call. We all know the kind... Press 1 for *****, Press 2 for #####, Press 3 for ++++++, etc. Completely computerized, with only the slightest hint of a human voice. I could tell that "V" had been through this kind of routine before, as she seemed adept at following the prompts. I guess she would have to be to survive in today's world, as pretty much every imaginable public entity utilizes some form of computer generated voice messaging.
I watched and heard as "V" pressed the number for the Red Unit, only to have the call disconnected shortly afterwards. With another sigh, "V" began another attempt. This time, she got through to the Red Unit, but was immediately placed on hold by what sounded like a human being on the other end of the line. Silently, patiently, "V" sat waiting, only to have the call disconnected again.
"It's the weekend, and it's after dinner time," "V" justified. "It's probably a busy time for the staff."
"Wow!" I thought. That was incredibly understanding of her! I would have been mad as heck by this point in time, after being put on hold once, and two disconnections!
Unrelentingly, "V" tried dialing the number again. Same process. Same prompts. Better outcome, though. This time, "V" was able to talk with a live person.
"I'm trying to reach "J", a friend of mine who recently moved in," "V" explained to the woman on the other side of the telephone line.
Hurriedly cutting "V"s query off, the woman told "V" what room number her friend was in, and said she would transfer her to that extension.
Unfortunately, and as you undoubtedly may have expected, the call was again disconnected.
"V" let out another barely audible sigh, and without hesitation, dialed the number one more time. After getting through to the hurried staff member again, "V" clearly stated that she would like to be connected to the room that "J" was in.
Finally, I could hear a definite ringing sound as "V" held the phone up to her ear, speaker on because of her hearing impairment.
If confusion has a sound, then that is exactly what I heard on the other end of the line. An older woman's voice definitely had uttered the words, "Hello? Hello?", but then the noise of the phone dropping onto a hard surface, probably the floor, quickly followed. The voice returned, as though from a distance, and pleaded, "Hold on! Hold on! I'm not used to this damned phone!" There was an urgency in the woman's voice, and I got the impression that she did not receive many telephone calls and was desperate to receive this one.
"Is that you "J"?" "V" asked, loudly "It's me, "V"!" also loudly.
"Who?" The woman sounded disoriented and out of breath.
"V" explained again who she was. I thought I saw a hint of frustration in her eyes, but if there really was any there, "V" certainly masked it well by remaining cheerful in her tone.
"V"? Is that you?" the woman asked again, this time sounding more shocked than anything else.
"Yes. It's me!" "V" explained again. A big smile spread over her tired-looking countenance as she realized that "J" knew who she was.
Taking the name of the Lord in vain, "J" responded with sheer joy. It was a wonderful thing to hear, as she came to the realization that her dear friend was actually on the telephone with her.
"You are an Angel sent by God!" "J" declared to "V" with absolute sincerity in her voice. In a burst of energy, she went on to describe how she had ended up in the nursing home... how she had lost her own home, and how the woman she had trusted to care for her hadn't done so, and how her health has been deteriorating, and how she had no one to help her, and how terribly alone she felt... and on and on and on... The reality of "J"s situation, being basically abandoned in a nursing home with no friends or family around her to offer support, became painfully clear to me. Kind of like a brick hitting you in the side of the head.
In a calm, soothing tone, "V" continued to comfort her friend by saying, "I know. I know it's hard."
"J" continued to share her troubles with "V", who sat and listened patiently. Across the table, I tried to gauge her emotions by the expression on her face, but could not. Her face remained completely unchanged from the beginning of the conversation to the end. I got the feeling that "V" was fulfilling some kind of extremely difficult, yet essentially necessary, duty by hearing her dear old friend's woes. And all throughout, "V" continued her attempt to offer comfort to "J" with the same words, "I know it's hard."
"An Angel sent by God!" "J" exclaimed again, thanking "V" over and over for finding her at the nursing home. "I thought everyone had forgotten about me!"
"We haven't," "V" told her old friend kindly, and the words were both sincere and sad. I knew that "V" was speaking for her other two friends, "M" and "L", when she spoke in the plural. And I also knew that "V", even at the age of ninety-five, was still the strong, steadfast leader of this close-knit group of friends, a role that she took very seriously.
After hanging up, "V" told me in a resigned tone of voice that she would have to call "M" and "L" and let them know that she had spoken with "J."
"Not now, though," she added. "Later." It was clear that she needed some time to recover from the conversation, along with the extreme effort involved in getting through to "J" in the first place.
I looked at her in awe, and wondered how difficult it must be for her to be such a strong support for her younger friends.
"Was that conversation hard for you?" I asked, genuinely concerned about the impact it may have had upon her.
A final sigh. "Yes," she said simply. "But I'm the one who makes sure we all stay in touch."
There it was. "V" was acknowledging her own purpose, an extremely relevant meaning in her life. Her friends relied on her to find out information about their other friends, even if the news was sad. And "V" responsibly and consistently fulfilled this role, still the "leader of the pack."
Then "V said something that made me realize that although weary, and possibly very sad at the loss of the deep connection she once had with her close-knit group of friends, she was still full of spirit... and a taste for something sweet.
"Let's have one of those Little Debbie snacks," she suggested, and I more than willingly fulfilled her request.
No comments:
Post a Comment